When You Can’t Solve Their Problems : AKA The Worst Feeling Ever 

Today we did not craft, per say. We painted and he enjoyed himself and I got to watch his imagination run wild as he painted. It was adorable. 

It was also one of the few adorable moments of our day. The rest of the day involved meltdowns, nap refusal, and a whole lot of tears. Why? Well, partially because he’s two and partially because Weaning him from his beloved paci at night and during naps has resulted in a massively sleep deprived miserable version of my tiny human. 


After a solid 15 minute nap, Mateo woke hysterical. Nothing would soothe him. He did not want to be held. He had zero interest in laying down in mama’s bed. He couldn’t care less about his big boy blankie I provided to replace his paci. All he could do was sit in his crib and wail pathetically while I racked my brain for ways to make him feel better. 


This, to me, is the worst part of motherhood. As his mama, I pride myself of being there to soothe his hurts, kiss his boo boos and generally Shepard him through the challenges of day to day living. And generally, when all else fails, a “big hug” from mama will help. When it won’t, when I can’t stop the hurt or make it better, there’s a part of me that physically aches. That’s motherhood. 

As the adult, it’s my job to know this is best for him and help him through it as best I can while staying the course. As his mama, it’s taken every ounce of willpower not to cave and hand the kid every pacifier Within a ten mile radius. The internal battle between wanting to soothe him and make it better and knowing what’s best for him in the long run is one of my least favorites to fight. And, I’m sure, a prelude to much of parenting over the next 16 years. Add in a special level of exhaustion that results from nights of barely any sleep, days of almost non existent napping, hours of dealing with tantrums and the daily stresses of being a human being and it’s 6pm at night and I am seriously debating whether I’m cut out for motherhood. 

In a bizarre act of God, he passed out next to his train table while I was doing dishes and is now asleep in his crib. How long it will last is anyone’s guess. 

In the meantime, I’m sipping hot coffee and telling myself over and over that I will make it through the next 16 years of not being able to take his hurts away…. and praying to the gods of sleep that he makes it until at least 5am tomorrow. 

And that, my crafty friends, is my two cents on parenthood tonight… followed by a picture of my kid covered in peanut butter. Because that, too, happened today. 

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